Life support

For 20 years artist Maggi Hambling's favourite muse has been jazz singer George Melly. His larger-than-life personality is a constant source of inspiration, while her wry humour is the sounding board for his jokes

George Melly: I first met Maggi when I was drunk. We were lying on the lawn at a garden party - I suppose it's 20 years ago now,
time passes so fast. We wriggled towards each other like a pair of earthworms. I didn't even know who I was wriggling towards, so
there must have been some gravitational pull. I felt immediately in sympathy with her.

I suppose one does tend towards one's own kind. I can't smoke any more, but I have no intention of giving up friends who do. As
for sex, that doesn't figure much now either, but I've always got on well with lesbians. I was completely gay until I was 22 and
bisexual after that, so I feel more at home with people who deviate.
I doubt that anything could change my feelings towards Maggi. I get a glow whenever I know I'm going to see her. It's a sort of fix.

And I admire her paintings very much, which makes a difference. We don't agree on everything. I love the Pre-Raphaelites, she
hates them. I respect her honesty. Maggi never prevaricates.

The one big thing we have in common is a love of Vaudeville. Maggi would have liked to be in it and I am. I try out my jokes on her
first and she'll save jokes for me. If I tried a joke on her and she didn't laugh, I'd suspect it wasn't a very good one.

Maggi is less promiscuously friendly than I am and I sometimes think it's a failure on my part that I have so few enemies. It was
during the Channel 4 quiz game in the 80s that we really got to know each other well. There was me, Maggi and Frank Whitford,
the 'straight' man. We did 10 shows in five days and weren't sober once. A man came up to me at a party afterwards and shouted:
'Stop interfering with Maggi. She's a painter and you're turning her into a performer!'

On one session, she arrived wearing a moustache, to keep her end up, and the next day she came in a gold lamé dress and Joan
Collins make-up.

There's a marvellous portrait of me by Maggi in the National Portrait Gallery. If I'm ever having trouble getting a taxi in central
London, I take comfort from the fact that there is a part of me sitting comfortably 200 yards away.

She gets me into some quite difficult poses for a stiff, elderly man. When she's painting, you see Maggi popping out from behind
the easel like an escaped mink. We went on a programme together to talk about one portrait and discovered Michael Winner
there. It may have been the fact that he's got hair, that provoked Maggi into shaving hers off immediately afterwards, though in
fact I think it suits her. I love the shape of her skull and her eyes are full of languorous beauty, but with something of the bird of
prey about them.

Maggi Hambling: George might not have known who he was wriggling towards, but I knew who he was. He'd just written a piece
about my being the first artist in residence at the National Gallery and he'd got some of it wrong. So I decided that would be a
good moment to tell him.

It's George's quality of being both sexes, on and off the stage, that appeals to me. I don't choose friends. George just happened.
The thought of him makes me feel better. George is a big person, not just physically. It's his spirit, his mind, his wit and
generosity. I look forward to the large presence arriving at the door, his stomach half an hour before the rest of him.

If I've painted George over life-size, that's what he is [her latest portrait is on show at Marlborough Fine Art, London]. He moves
me and there's a serendipity between us. Recently, I was terribly upset about something. It was early one Sunday morning and I'd
been crying. The phone went and George said: 'Are you all right, Maggi?' He'd dreamt that he was at a party. The others had left
and I came into the room in tears. He'd dreamt it as it was happening.

Wherever he is and whatever he's doing, George telephones every week to make sure we're both still here. That's a great
reassurance. I try to help him by remembering jokes I've heard, but it's difficult to tell George a joke over the telephone. He
doesn't hear too well, so you have to repeat every line, which puts a strain on the timing. But as long as he gets the punch line,
that's the main thing.

Work is a big part of our friendship. There's nothing sexier than George on stage and he understands what I'm trying to do in my
work. He's always honest and he says when he doesn't like something. He's written very perceptively about my work and he sees
things in it that I haven't.

I'm not as gregarious as he is, but then I work on my own. People can eat you up. You have to keep them at bay. The art world
isn't overburdened with a sense of humour. We both love drag. The great thing about George is that he's completely
unshockable. We don't usually meet more than once a fortnight, but he's always there for me and that's what friendship is.

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About this article

Life support

This article appeared on p54 of the Observer Magazine section of the Observer
on Saturday 12 August 2000.
It was published on
the Guardian website
at 18.31 EDT on Sunday 13 August 2000.
It was first published at 18.31 EDT on Saturday 12 August 2000.